What You Give
by dcat8888
Summary: Where did the idea for the motorcycle come from....a Christmas story and a bit of a fill-in-the-missing scenes.


What You Give

by dcat

This could really not be happening.

Milton C. Hardcastle was walking the senior citizen treadmill. The suburban mall, this one named inappropriately, Sunnyside Mall, was the last place he wanted to be, ever. He was lapping his second time around pausing at every chain store as he glided by, wondering if he should go inside, and if so, then what. The what being what should he get McCormick.

Even more incredible than this sight, a retired and noted jurist in this sort of scene, this wasn't the first mall he'd been to. Yesterday he'd been to Ferndale and Applewood and today before Sunnyside, there was the Eastside _and_ the Westside. Who even knew that there were that many malls?

Hardcastle should have realized after the first mall, Ferndale that they were all the same and he was still no closer to finding the Christmas present.

Good thing the sappy names and the direction-named malls were going to run out soon. A renowned judge, such as he was, wasn't comfortable with the likes of the average holiday shopper, nor did he feel he should be. The shopping and the holidays were always left to Nancy and then to his housekeeper Sarah, after Nancy passed away. He was content to know that they'd take care of making everyone's holiday happy, including his, all he needed to do was show up and partake in their planned festivities. Oh, he did manage to always find a surprise for Nancy and for Sarah, but it was becoming apparent that women were much easier to buy a bobble for, than, well, a McCormick.

Milt debated internally. Should he get the kid something he needed, something he wanted, something for his car, something he'd never get himself, or just a total surprise? Then how much should he spend? And not that price was a concern at all, because it wasn't, he reasoned with himself that if he found something that screamed McCormick, he'd get it, simply because to him, that's what Christmas was all about.

Around and around he went, past the clothing stores, the jewelry stores, the leather stores, heck, he even had stuck his nose inside a kitchen store. He wasn't sure why he stopped in that last one, but for a brief moment he thought that maybe some sort of kitchen gizmo or doodad would make their dinners a little easier.

Up and down the aisles past copper pots and pans and egg timers and spatula's, he finally stopped to read the features on the box about a revolutionary hot air popcorn popper. He grabbed the box off the top shelf it sat on and was about to purchase it, under the guise that it would be a perfect choice for all the John Wayne film fests they sat through, when he finally came to his senses and realized that the current popper they had worked just fine and made a good snack and a popcorn popper really wasn't the best idea he'd had. McCormick would think it was stupid.

All the sappy named, directioned malls were turning out to be useless.

The kid didn't need a tie or a wallet or a watch or a sweater or God forbid, a popcorn popper.

Hey, there was a bookstore down at the other end, he'd head down there and see if anything inside there would jump out at him and scream McCormick.

As he walked, he mostly kept his head down or aimed at looking at the storefronts in hopes that the perfect gift idea would pop out at him. It was too late, the one time he lifted up his head and turned toward the inner section of the mall he spotted someone he knew, or rather George Laurel zeroed in on him.

First it was the overbearing handshake. All Milt wanted was to let go of the furious, exaggerated motion.

"I never in a million years thought I'd ever see your carcass in a mall of all places," George started in.

"Yeah, me either George. Happy Holidays," Milt strained to say. His eyes already wandering off to somewhere else he wanted to be.

"Honey, this here is Milt Hardcastle, years ago we rode patrol together, I know I've told you lots of stories about this guy, he's the retired Judge, you know hun, the one we read about now in the paper all the time." George was already pulling his wife into the conversation. Hardcastle was stuck now. Laurel pulled Milt's hand over to greet his wife. "Milt, this is my wife Lydia."

"Happy Holidays to you too," Milt forced himself to say. He even managed a smile.

"Oh, Merry Christmas, and nice to finally meet you. George has told me some stories," Lydia said as she ended the lady-like shake, much to Hardcastle's delight. He began to back away from both of them ever so slightly.

"You're not doing much shopping huh Milt? No packages yet?"

"Nope, just getting started, and in a bit of a hurry," this was perfect, he could easily get out of this right now. "I'm heading down to the bookstore, already got something in mind, but it sure was nice running into you again and to meet your wife. You both have a Merry Christmas." He turned and started to head away from them, stopping momentarily to give them a friendly wave.

"Happy Holidays to you too Milt, give me a call sometime, we'll grab a beer or something," George called out after him. "I still want to hear how you managed to snag that Black Widow woman."

Hardcastle turned back ever so slowly and waved and smiled again. He was glad that ended quickly. Now it was back to the task at hand. What exactly did you get an ex-con who lived in your gatehouse and helped you round up bad guys? It wasn't exactly on the list of categories with your barber, mailman or paperboy. Worse than that, well not exactly worse, but McCormick was quickly becoming more than a social experiment, not that that's what he ever was, but somewhere along the way and Milt couldn't exactly nail down the precise time, but McCormick was inching his way toward a real honest to goodness friend, and even managing to worm his way into his heart. Nope, he needed to find the right sort of present that would say something that would never come out of his mouth.

As he stepped toward the bookstore he knew he wasn't going to find anything in a mall.

He headed for the nearest exit.

The voice of doubts filled his head as he lumbered toward his truck. Maybe he didn't need to get McCormick anything at all. He was sort of an employee, it's not like they were related or anything. And the kid would feel stupid if he gave him something and he didn't give Hardcastle anything right? They never had said anything about giving each other presents. Milt shoved his hands in his pockets as he tried to remember where he parked the truck.

No, he was wrong. He had to get him something. The kid was already all over him about getting a tree and having some sort of big deal special meal. Holidays meant something to McCormick, Hardcastle knew that. That's why he had to get him something. But what exactly?

He drove and thought.

Hardcastle's tired mind whirred with all sorts of thoughts. Had the kid ever given him some sort of clue after a year and a half?

As he drove he looked at every business he passed by. Fast food restaurants, tire stores, bars, gas stations, consignment shops, record stores. Nothing was helping.

After about an hour of driving around, something finally shouted at him. It was perfect. Just up in the next block, he saw the neon sign blinking and he recalled a conversation back in June. Yep, this was the place.

"_McCormick, what the hell are you doing? It's three o'clock in the morning. Normal people are in bed." Hardcastle had come downstairs to figure out where the noise he'd been hearing was coming from._

"_I guess I'm not normal then," he answered, without looking at him. He starred intently at the TV._

"_I already knew that, but I thought maybe you'd take a hint about bed four hours ago when I said goodnight," Milt said. "What's going on?"_

"_A movie," McCormick nodded toward the TV._

"_Yeah, I can see that, but which one?"_

"_Just probably the best movie ever made."_

_Milt raised his eyebrows and sat down in one of the chairs. He squinted to try to figure out which movie it was. He didn't need to press, McCormick quickly told him._

"_Great Escape. I love this movie."_

_Hardcastle chuckled, "Prisoners trying to escape, I wonder why." That comment got him a quick roll of the eyes from McCormick._

"_It's more than that."_

"_Yeah, well, Steve McQueen was pretty doggone great."_

_McCormick silently nodded his agreement, "It's not that either, but I agree about McQueen. He was the coolest."_

"_So what then?"_

"_Shh, it's coming up…" McCormick said._

_Hardcastle focused in on the movie and smiled as he realized what part of the movie the kid liked. The motorcycle chase._

"_You ever ride a motorcycle kiddo?"_

"_Yeah, a few times, I always wanted to have one because of this movie, maybe some day."_

_The conversation ended between the two of them as they both watched the action of the movie._

Yep, this was the place. Reisman's Brothers Motorcycles. Milt pulled in the lot and went inside to pick something out. Boy would the kid be surprised.

Two hours later after haggling and picking out the perfect bike, one of the Reisman brothers helped load the shiny new motorcycle into the back of the pickup.

Hardcastle's next dilemma was what to do with the bike until Christmas. He started up the truck and began to drive again.

OOOOO

"Milt?" Frank Harper opened the front door of his house.

"Hi Frank, I need a favor."

"Listen Milt, I'm off duty right now," a somewhat harried Harper said, shaking his head.

Milt cleared his throat, "Not that kind of favor, a personal favor. I need some space in your garage, just until Christmas."

"Christmas is three weeks away, where am I supposed to put my car till then?"

"In your garage," Milt started.

"What's wrong with your garage?" Harper asked.

"I need to hide it. This won't take up much room at all." He motioned toward the back of his pick-up.

Harper looked and caught a glimpse of the motorcycle.

"You bought a bike? What for?"

"It's for McCormick, for Christmas."

"You got him a motorcycle for Christmas?" Harper was shocked. "The Batmobile isn't enough for you, you need to get him the Batcycle too?"

"Very funny, can I just park it please? I'll get it on Christmas Eve."

"It's a little extravagant isn't it? Most people would do oh I don't know maybe a watch or a wallet, something he can use, something practical."

"He can use a bike and he always wanted one, besides it's Christmas."

"Oh yeah, I forgot, that's definitely a reason to blow a wad of cash on your hired gun," Harper smiled, "Is he playing you?"

"No, he's not playing me. He's done a lot of work over the year and I appreciate it."

"Still Milt, a motorcycle? You ever see The Great Escape? You're just encouraging him to make a run. I thought you wanted this experiment to work."

"It is." Hardcastle didn't want to hear any of this. "Look, all I want is a little spot to store it, is it yes or no?"

Harper backed off. "Let me get the door."

Milt went to get the bike off of the pick-up.

Frank came back outside to give him a hand, "Just one thing Milt, don't get upset when all you get from him is a sweater okay?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you Frank, it's not about what you get, it's about what you give."

The End


End file.
